The Fall and Redemption
by ravenoak21
Summary: Sherlock Holmes fell from the roof of St. Bart's but that is not the end of the story. Life continues and no one knows what time will bring. Post Reichenback. Spoilers of Season Three of BBC's Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

**The Fall and Redemption**

Author: Ravenoak21

Sherlock Holmes jumped from the rooftop of St. Bart's but this is not the end of the story. Life continues and one never knows what time will bring. Post Reichenbach. Non-slash. Spoilers for Season Three of BBC's Sherlock.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. That honor goes to the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the creative writers of the BBC.**

**This is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, ever. All constructive reviews are welcome. Thank you.**

Mycroft studied his fellow passenger as the bright lights of the dark city danced in light and shadow in the interior of the sleek car.

"Brother..."

The silence seemed to deepen as the dark head turned further away. All focus seemed to be on the passing shadows beyond the window.

"Sherlock..."

"You can stop anywhere along here, if you please."

Mycroft's eyes closed as he sighed. "You can pull over now."

The driver gave a brief nod as the car came to a smooth stop. Long graceful fingers reached to the door handle as the long body bent slightly to retrieve a small canvas backpack resting on the floor between his feet. On impulse, Mycroft gripped his brother's arm.

"I cannot express how deeply sorry I am about all of this Sherlock. I never meant to betray you."

Sherlock glanced down at the restraining hand on his arm then into his brother's shadowed face. "It would seem betrayal comes easily enough."

Mycroft blinked as an insight blazed through his mind. "Secure it now!"

Sherlock's fingers snapped for the door latch even as a faint snick was heard. "Unlock. The. Door." Each word hard, distinct.

"Give us some privacy." A clear partitian slid up between the driver and passanger compartments.

"Mycroft...the door...now!"

Mycroft's hand slid down to grip Sherlock's wrist as he squeezed hard. "Calm yourself. And for God's sake, breath."

Mycroft applied more pressure at his brother's silent hesitation. "Breath!"

He felt the deep inhailation and almost counted at the slow, deep exhale. "Again, please."

Again he felt the deep inahle and long slow exhale and relaxed his grip.

"Don't let Moriarty win now."

He watched Sherlock's head drop back against the headrest face turned towards the window once again. Another deep breath and slow release. Mycroft could almost feel the tension flow away as his brother's body relaxed. His face once again regestering his inner calm.

"Moriarty's ability to assess..."

"Stop, now!" You won out. It doesn't matter how close he came. You were still a step ahead. Focus on that. Let that be your touchstone."

Mycroft wasn't done. "How then is what you are doing, in anyway, a betrayal to John or to anyone?"

Sherlock gave a slow nod. "You are right. Emotions..." He gazed out the window, a rueful smile playing about his lips.

Mycroft gave the wrist under his fingers gentle pressure. "You always will be your mother's son. Father was a great, sodding git."

Mycroft tapped on the partition and it disappeared. "You can unlock us now."

This time when Sherlock tried the latch the door clicked open.

"Wait..."

"Why"

The older Holmes held out two objects. Both black, sleek, and light. Sherlock studied them for a moment then looked at Mycroft waiting for the explanation. Mycroft indicated the device in his right hand. "This holds all of my resources. All of my contacts. I place them at your disposal. What ever you should need when ever you should need it. No questions, no strings."

The left hand lifted slightly holding the second device. "This is a direct line to me and to me alone. I can be reached any hour, day or night." Mycroft held his breath afraid but half expecting Sherlock would reject the gifts. To his immense relief his brother held out his hand and Mycroft placed the two small pads in it.

"Thank you." They were slide into the canvas bag.

"Don't worry about John, Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade. I'll see to it that no one gets that close to them again."

"Don't make promises you cannot keep."

"They will be protected." Mycroft was determined.

"See to it then." And he was gone. Just a shadow dark on dark until Mycroft lost sight of him altogether.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here it is, second chapter. This part deals with DI Lestrade. Again** **I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Lestrade or any of that rest. They belong to the Estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the writers of the BBC series, "Sherlock".**

Lestrade sipped slowly from the cold bottle. For the last hour he had been prowling the room only to end up gazing out the window. With a growl he fairly flung himself onto the sofa as he slapped the bottle down on the low table in front of him.

"Damn you, Holmes! Even dead you can't leave a soul in peace."

For weeks since a singularly difficult funeral, he had been wrestling with the question, Did Holmes truly master mind crimes just to play genius at solving them? Was this seemingly brilliant mind actually no more then a horrendous fraud and fake as so many tabloid articles were saying?

As a DI he had to take all such things into consideration. But something deep in his gut would not let him believe it entirely and this he had come to trust over the years. He was about to give up and hit the shower when his cell phone went off. Every fiber of his being resisted it's clarion call and he willed the caller to simply hang up. But the caller did not and it was either answer the blasted thing or chuck it out the window.

"Oh sod it all! Lestrade!"

"Oh, good. I was beginning to wonder."

The DI slowly put his feet on the floor, his brow furrowed. "Who is this." It wasn't a question.

"Who this is, is not important. That you have perhaps two vipers in your midst is."

The furrow deepened on Lestrade's brow. An inkling of an idea taking shape. The caller's next inquiry helped solidify it.

"Who's duty station is closest to you office, Lestrade?"

"Anderson and Donovan."

"Ah, good man. Anderson for certain. Donovan may be an associate. They are very close on many levels. You are not out of not out of danger yet, Inspector."

"Danger...what are you talking about?"

"Never believe that the fall from St. Bart's was planned nor deliberate. It was, in all sense of the word, a push."

This brought Lestrade to his feet.

"One life for three." Each word was measured, almost monotone.

A spark of anger flamed in his belly. "They both jumped on Moriarty's band wagon. They were so eager to believe that Holmes was the true criminal. Sod them both!" Then he released a deep shuddering breath raking the fingers of his free hand through his hair. "Oh, God...Holmes."

"Nothing must change, Inspector. No transfers, no sacking, no change in attitude towards them. You are safe away from the Yard. But there, nothing can be done that would not arouse suspection."

"You really expect me to work with those two and not haul them before the Board of Inquiry!"

"There is a very old saying, "Hold your friends close, and your enemies closer." It will happen in time Lestrade. But not now. Any case you make against one or both of them must be solid. Air tight. They must not walk as Moriarty did."

"Right". Lestrade was resigned to the truth of it.

"Good." The caller rang off.

Another device was thumbed.

"Lestrade has been advised. SH"

"Was that wise? MH"

"Imparitive. SH" Sherlock cut the call as he fastened the lose end of his turban so nothing but his eyes were showing and made his way down the hill to the sun drenched village below.

Lestrade stared at the now silent instrument in his hand. With an explosive roar, he flung it away and watched as it sailed gracefully out the window.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 of "The Fall and Redemption". Major spoilers for "The Adventure of the Empty House" from the collection of Conan Doyle stories in "The Return of Sherlock Holmes" as it is basically the modernization of that story. This will contain John H. Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft H., DI Lestrade, even Molly makes an appearance.**

**As always, I do not own Sherlock Holmes and Co., they all belonging to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC.**

John and Mrs. Hudson stood side by side, an arm around each other as they watched Molly and her lab-techs catalog petri dishes, half-filled beakers,and assorted test tubes. The questionable contents of the freezer and frig were carefully labeled and carted away in coolers. Papers were analyzed and paired with the corresponding experiment when ever possible. Another tech had Sherlock's computer open and was checking his files for more information on what he had been doing in his home-made lab.

When everything has been sorted out as far as possible the techs packed up the papers, journals and the laptop and left, Molly moved to speak to John and Mrs. Hudson.

"We can't be totally sure what all of it was about, yeah, but Sher..." She paused, then drew a breath. "Sherlock was meticulous on notes so we shouldn't have to much of a problem tracking his thoughts. It just might take awhile to decipher them."

"Decipher. Now there's an appropriate word for this whole bloody mess." John thought mirthlessly as he looked around at the cleared counter tops and table. It seemed so alien now.

Molly studied them for a moment. "Everyone trying to be so stoic. So bloody stiff upper lipped even with the grief and misery showing so plainly in their body language and eyes." She thought to herself. She wanted nothing more then to set in some dark corner and howl.

Out loud she could only muster "I am so...so very sorry." Then she too was out the door and down the stairs. The white van pulled away from the curb and was gone.

Mrs. Hudson leaned into John's side and his arm tightened around her. They lingered there for a few moments before she rallied and looked up into the drawn, pale face just above her own."What do we do now.?"

John hesitated as he looked around the flat. He had been staying on here just because it had been home for so long. But now, it was getting harder and harder to think of that way. The light had seemed to gone out of it. The energy that once filled it had stilled and not even Mrs. Hudson's ever present cheeriness had been able to stir it up. The past Christmas had been filled with good company,food and talk, but somehow it had lacked luster. He was dating a woman and it seemed serious. Her name was Mary Morstan and she was bright, intelligent, quick witted and she made him laugh. But some how when he brought her here it felt like he was invading someone else's space. Sometimes he would catch the movement of someone out of the corner of his eye. Tall, dark haired. The front door would open and his first thought would be of Sherlock. He was getting tired of living with the shadow of a memory and he didn't think he wanted to force Mary to live with it either.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I can't stay on here."

Her hand infolded his. "Oh, but John..."

He looked down at her. "I really can't." His eyes were shimmering and his voice sounded scratchy.

She sighed with a nod. "I understand, dear." and found that she truly did.

"I'll call Mycroft. He'll know what to do with the rest of...all this."John was mindful of the violin in is open case, the skull on the mantle. Assorted equipment that was clean and Molly hadn't seen necessary to take.

She patted the hand she held. "You do that. I'll go down and make us a cuppa." Cupping his left cheek and planting a kiss on the right one, she turned and left. As she crossed the thresh hold something made her pause. She turned to watch as John took some deep breaths, his body seeming to settle as he reached for his phone. His head gave that endearing little twist and tilt as he talked. She couldn't hear what was said, but it hurt her to the heart knowing that so many things would never be the same. Hadn't been the same since Sherlock died. How she missed the hussle and bussle of it all. How she was going to miss her boys.

When he finished that call, he joined her and they made their way down stairs. She led him to the kitchen. "Sit down and I'll fix us something nice. Oh...and if you...yes...need another flat... I have a friend who let's over in Kennington. She is very reasonable in her rent. Shall I ring her up?"

John gave her a weak but genuine smile. "Thank you, that would be helpful."

After a light lunch and light talk, she made the phone call. After she hung up she turned to John. "She has a vacancy. She said you could come over today, if it wasn't to much trouble."

"That will be fine. Perfect in fact."

He helped her clear away the remnants of their meal then assisted her with her coat when she insisted in going along with him to Kennington. Leaving 221B, she hailed them a cab and she gave the driver the address.

Mrs. Dearbourn met them them as the front gate as John helped Mrs Hudson out of the taxi. Mrs. Dearbourn hugged Mrs. Watson warmly. She smiled genuinely at John when Mrs. Hudson introduced them, taking his offered hand and shaking it firmly. Then she turned taking Mrs. Hudson's arm and led them up the front walk to her house. She then led John to a suite of rooms. "Look around and take your time. I will just have a nice visit with Martha. She doesn't come around half often enough." With that she left him alone.

John wandered through the flat. A large master bedroom, setting room, kitchen, even a space for a proper office. And, as Mrs. Hudson had said, the rent was very affordable. He made his way to where the two women were chatting.

"Do you like it then, Dr?" Mrs. Dearbourn spoke with a slight European accent. Eastern, maybe Balkans...he couldn't be sure.

"Yes, I like it very much."

"Well then. If you would like we can clear away the signing of the lease. Feel free to start moving in when ever you like."

"You are very kind, Mrs. Dearbourn."

"Oh please. Call me Roksana." She gave a wink and smile to her dearest friend, Martha Hudson and patted the seat of the chair next to her as she looked up at John. " I'll get the papers while you sit and have some tea...coffee?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you."

She served him the hot beverage then left the room. John toyed with his tea cup.

"You will come and visit, won't you John?"

He looked at her, his eyes wide, then his face softened into a smile. "Of course I will. Every chance I get."

She nodded. "That would be very nice."

returned and the arrangements were made. Mrs. Hudson stood and John followed suit.

"I have to be getting back to Baker Street." Mrs. Hudson said as John helped her into her coat.

"I'll come with you." He looked at Mrs. Dearbourn. "I'll send some of my things over by this evening."

Mrs. Dearbourn smiled and waved her hand in dismissal. "As I said. There is no rush." She held out a hand to him. "Here is your latch key."

He took it and slipped it into a pocket. "Thank you for everything."

"My pleasure. See you soon. Take care Martha, don't be such a stranger."

Mrs. Hudson smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "See you soon, Roksana."

John had called a cab while the two women had said their good-byes and it was at the curb. Mrs. Dearbourn walked with them down to the gate. As Mrs. Hudson passed through she happened to glance to her left. "Oh Roksana, are those rose bushes new?" The ground looked newly worked and mulched.

Mrs. Dearbourn came through and moved to the narrow strip of soil between the sidewalk and the fencing that ran around her property. "Yes, and a lovely shade of apricot they will be when they get established. I thought they would frame this bit of skullduggery someone painted on the fence awhile back."

John studied her a bit then moved to stand by her side.

She continued."I usually don't go in for such foolishness from the silly hooligans but for this, I think I can let it stand."

John felt his heart lurch as Mrs. Hudson's arm slip around his waist. There on the wood, in a fiery red orange color, were the words. "Believe in Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty was real!"

The blaring horn from the impatient cab driver broke the tableau. John helped Mrs. Hudson into the back seat then moved around to get in. Mrs. Dearbourn waved after the taxi as it bore her new tenet away.

Together John and Mrs. Hudson dug out some packing boxes from the attic. She left him alone as he filled them with his few belongings. Books mostly. Jumpers, shirts and slacks went into garment bags. As he was tapping the last box shut a knock came on the door. "John dear?"

"Come in."

She opened the door but didn't step over the thresh hold. He fished his phone out but smiled and waved her into the flat. "Just calling Mary to see if she can help me move."

Mrs. Hudson looked at the neat, rather small pile he had made. "I have made tea..."

He shook his head. "No...but thank you. I'm not really hungry." He finished the call then picking up a box headed out the door and down the steps to the curbside. 29 minutes later a neat little car rolled up and parked in front of 221B. A small blond energetic woman jumped out and rounded the vehicle.

"This all there is, yeah?"

John's face lit up. "One more bag and it's done." John slipped up to the flat and grabbed the back. He wanted to take one last look around but he knew he had everything, so he slowly closed the door with out looking back.

Mrs. Hudson stood on the sidewalk as Mary packed John's things. John set the bag on the curb and took Mrs. Hudson into a hug. "I'll be back to visit. I do promise." His voice husky, not much more then a whisper.

She hugged him back. "I know. I will miss you so..." She managed a small smile as she stepped back. "Go on with you now. Take care of yourself."

Mary moved and hugged her as well. The both young people piled into the car and it drove away. Mrs. Hudson slowly turned and entered the house and shut the front door. She walked back to her own kitchen. Dropping heavily into a chair she laid her head on her arms and wept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Somehow I didn't expect to get beyond three chapters, but here is the next installment. It basically picks up where chapter 3 left off. I see that people are reading this. My thanks for your interest, it is deeply appreciated.**

**Disclaimer:I do not own Sherlock and Co. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle gave us the great characters to inspire us to write about and The BBC gives a fresh perspective to work with. Blessings on you all, where ever you may be.**

The next day Mrs. Hudson sat at her table. She was trying to focus on the paper in front of her. Mycroft hadn't gotten back to her about removing Sherlock's belongings but she wanted to at least write an advertisement for the local paper. She had just jotted a few words when someone knocked at the front door. She moved down the hall.

"Yes, who is it?" She called.

"It's Mycroft Holmes, Mrs Hudson. Might I have a few moments of your time?"

She opened the door moving back so that he could enter. "Please do come in, Mr Holmes. I suppose this is about...moving Sherlock's things."

"Actually, Mrs. Hudson, I have a favor to ask of you. Also, I wanted to deliver this to you in person." He held out an envelope.

She looked at the envelope then up at him. Before she could say anything Mycroft continued.

"The favor is that, if you can see your way clear, you would leave Sherlock's flat as it is. Clothes, papers, books, brick-a-brack, everything. The rooms will be occupied. The envelope holds next month's rent. Is this agreeable with you?"

She studied him, her brow furrowed in puzzlement but she held out her hand for the envelope. "Of course, Mr Holmes. It will be no trouble at all." Was all she could think to say.

"You have my thanks and my gratitude." With that he gave her a slight bow and let himself out. "Well Sherlock," He thought to himself as he climbed into the back seat of his car. "I am keeping this one safe enough. Just as I promised." He tapped his driver on the shoulder and the car slid silently away done Baker Street.

Slowly Mrs. Hudson turned towards her setting room, her eyes gazing up the stairs. She had to wonder, but did she dare hope? She shook her head, sadly. How could she.

John threw himself into his work. There was nothing else for it. It was either that or fall into a deep blue funk that there might be no climbing out of. He and Mary visited 221B and Mrs. Hudson would come to Kensington. If John was in she made sure they shared a visit. Lestrade would drop around and talk about a case he was involved in. At one of those visits he dropped a small manila envelope on John's desk.

With a glance at Lestrade, John picked it up. It was light but it wasn't just paper. He opened it and tipped the contents out into his hand. He found he held an official police pass. There was an envelope inside and he removed that as well. "What's all this then?"

"I have learned in the years working with Sherlock...and now you...that having a third detached observer around can shed a different perspective on things. You are one of the best doctor's I have worked with officially and other wise. This gives you clearance to work on any case I might feel obliged to call you in on. You may be no...Sherlock...but you're bright, quick, and you seem to have picked up a thing or two from your...eerrr...former... flat mate. Besides, you're far better company then Donovan and Anderson thrown together. As for the envelope, well, being official comes with a few perks."

John quirked an eyebrow at Lestrade but since no other explanation seemed to be forthcoming he opened the envelope and took out the piece of paper it contained. He studied the small document then gave a low whistle. "How did you pull this off?"

Greg Lestrade gave a devious chuckle."Oh, we have your name on a few case files. Once you had clearance it wasn't hard to go in and work out a time schedule. A request for back pay and Bob's your uncle, there you are."

John carefully folded the check and put it in his wallet. "I can't thank you enough, Greg."

"No thanks necessary, John. Really. It's my pleasure. Besides, you know yourself, being a copper can be no kind of picnic at all. Speaking of cases, I have one that I just might need medical advice on...will you come?"

The old familiar words were like a clarion call..."...will you come?" He could almost catch the rich baritone but he shut his mind against the near memory. He grabbed his coat. "Just let me tell Mary and I'll be right with you." When he told her what was up, she smiled and kissed him. "Take good care of each other." John promised that they would and the two men where out the door.

OOO

It was close to three years since Sherlock had stepped off the roof of St Bart's. John and Mary had married within the first year in a small ceremony. Just her family and friends. Lestrade stood as best man and Mrs. Hudson beamed on from the front pew of the little chapel. Molly and some of his colleagues from the hospital also attended.

Close to three years since Lestrade had answered his phone only to wind up chucking it out the window anyway. And he was wondering if he would ever get a break to find out who the "perhaps two vipers in his midst" were." Yes, the voice had implicated Anderson and maybe Donovan. But those two just didn't seem bright enough to be in league with the master criminal Moriarty was professed to be. Either the voice was dead wrong or Anderson and Donovan were accomplished actors. He found that hard to believe, but he knew that people could surprise you on, so many levels.

The break came unexpectedly when John and Mary were involved in a stupid but tragic traffic accident. A young mother driving slowly enough, became distracted by her young daughter and failed to stop for a pedestrian crossing. John had caught the car coming in his peripheral vision and when it registered that it wasn't going to stop he had grabbed Mary and tried to push her out of the way. He remembered feeling impact and his head hitting the tarmac. And not much else for some time.

The young mother, horrified at what had happened, fished tailed to a stop then piled pale and shaken out of the car. By that time a dozen or so cell phones were out and New Scotland Yard was informed of the accident and the hospital was alerted. An ambulance dispatched. Anyone with first aid knowledge rushed in. The driver was forced to sit before she fainted. John and Mary were covered with light coats and jackets. The ambulance arrived first, sirens wailing. The Yarders had to fight a growing traffic jam.

The officers piled out of their cars. Lestrade ordered two of his people to start redirecting traffic away from the scene. Then he, Anderson, and Donovan made for where the thickest gathering of onlookers seemed to be. When he reached the cross walk his breath caught. Paramedics were working on two people. He moved to check on the one that seemed to have less medical attention going on.

He knelt down as he released the breath. "John?"

John blinked then scowled. He tried to turn his head, looking for the voice. Latex covered hands reached to stop the movement. A pair of eyes bored into Lestrade. He blushed slightly and muttered an apology.

"Mary?"

At the mutter John squinted and focused on Lestrade. "Greg?"

The paramedic placed a hand on John's shoulder. "Just relax. You've taken a nasty blow." The paramedic looked at Lestrade a questioning look on her face.

"This is Dr. John H Watson. Mary is his wife."

Lestrade looked towards the second victim. Who ever it was, was being carefully but hurriedly placed on a backboard. A gurney being jockeyed into place. A plasma bag and oxygen was already being administered. He sent up a silent prayer that it wasn't Mary.

As the patient was being loaded in to the ambulance one of the attendance trotted over and knelt between Lestrade and the paramedic and looked down at John. "How's this one?"

"Head hit the tarmac. Looks like a serious concussion but no signs of scull fracture. Is awake and some what aware. He knows his wife's name and his own when spoken to."She glanced at Lestrade. "He can also recognize familiar voices, faces, and can put a name to it. Severe bruising on lower extremities. Will want x-rays to make sure there are no broken bones and no spinal injury."

Then Lestrade's radio crackled and a voice, whispered but very clear, came over.

"To bad the car didn't take Watson out, yeah? Poetic justice for Moriarty I say. First Holmes then Watson? Would serve them bloody right."

Slowly Lestrade rose to his feet as he checked the where abouts of his people. All but one looked frozen, staring at their radios. One had his back turned phone out and to his ear. Then his face settled into a feral smile and he began to stalk forwards. "Got you, you bloody sod!"

A Yarder had leaned close to Anderson's left ear. "You really should check your radio before carrying on a private conversation...mate." His voice dripped sarcasm.

Sally Donovan snapped around to glare at Anderson. He had gone deathly pale and weak in the knees.

"You? All this time you have been working for a sodder...you told me he didn't even exist. Had me convinced that is was all the Freak...and all the time?" Then she hit him and hit him hard.

Her action galvanized the rest of the officers as they jumped to pull her off of him. Anderson was staggered and almost went down but hands grabbed him and held him in place.

Lestrade arrived, anger in every inch of body language. "Get him out of here. Out of my sight. Book him, and if you can manage it throw away the key"

"Yes, Inspector, sir." Anderson was led to one of the squad cars, tucked away into the back seat. The officer jumped behind the wheel and was soon lost in traffic.

He looked around as if hunting for someone else to light into. But instead he asked about the driver of the car.

"She had to be sedated, Inspector. They are transporting her as well. We were able to get the name of the husband. As soon as he arrives the child will be handed over to him. The car is prepped for impoundment."

He nodded. "Very good." He noticed that the ambulance had disappeared. With John and Mary inside.

"If you need me, I'll be at the hospital."

"Very good, Inspector."

He gathered up Donovan and together they drove away. When they arrived at the hospital he was told that John was in x-ray and that Mary had been rushed into surgery. That mystified him as all the eyewitness reports agreed that John had gotten her out of the way and it had been John who had taken the brunt of accident. Maybe she had hit something else and been hurt worse then they knew? He huffed. Only time would tell and all they could do was wait for any kind of report.

Lestrade tried not to watch the clock. He leafed through old dog eared magazines, paced, sat and fumed. Donovan offered to go for coffee, but he wasn't feeling like it. Finally a doctor in scrubs came through and looked around the waiting room. Lestrade looked at him and the doctor moved his way.

"Are you the one asking about John Watson and his wife?"

"Yes, I am are they going to be alright?"

"I must ask...are you a relative..or just a friend?"

The question set of alarm bells in Lestrade's head. "I'm John's brother." The lie came easy enough.

"Does your sister-in-law have any close relatives?"

Lestrade didn't like the feeling he was getting in the pit of his stomach. "She's an orphan. Her mother died when she was just small. Her father has been gone several years now. She was raised by an aunt but she's very elderly."

The doctor nodded. "I see. Perhaps you had better sit down then."

Casting a glance at Donovan, he turned to follow. He was led to a quiet corner of the room. The doctor sat and waited for Lestrade to join him.

"Your brother, as you know, sustained a concussion. That seems to be the worst of his injuries. He is badly bruised on the left side, but as far as we can see nothing is broken. Once the swelling goes down we will run another set of x-rays to be sure. The back muscles are also pulled and he will be off his feet for awhile but there was no damage to the spine. Luckily for him, the car wasn't going very fast at all."

Lestrade allowed himself to feel the relief in the report, but he also noticed that the surgeon hadn't even mentioned Mary's injuries. Even as the thought ran through his mind the doctor took a breath then released it.

"As for your sister-in-law...I am very sorry. But we couldn't save her."

Lestrade felt the bottom fall out his stomach. "I don't understand. The people at the accident said she wasn't hit by the car...that.. John had gotten her out of the way. What happened?"

"She had an aneurysm on the brain. I'm sorry. There was so very little we could do."


	5. Chapter 5

**My thanks to all of you who are reading this. Thank you, Sherlockreader for the review. It is very rewarding and appreciated. Thanks also to YouLoyalBlogger, Rouge Singer, damson1,Danni-Sherlockian-Ireland, nagla11, and ErinLindsey524 for taking such an interest in this story of mine. This chapter takes up where Chapter 4 left off. Major spoilers for Sir A. C. Doyle's "The Adventure of the Empty House" Hope you enjoy it. **

**Some may think it strange that Mrs. Hudson would fly into such a rage. But in the "Adventure of the Empty House" Sherlock tells Watson that when he had turned up at Baker Street, sans disguise, she had "violent hysterics" This is just my take on that scene.**

**As always, I do not own Sherlock Holmes and Co.**

Lestrade just set where he was even after the doctor had left. Before going, the surgeon had given strict instructions that John could not be told about Mary until they were satisfied that John's concussion was not going to cause any kind of crises.

So it was that Gregory Lestrade had gone back to New Scotland Yard and saw to it that someone who was trained in grief counseling was dispatched to inform Mrs. Dearbourn's to break the sad news. He grabbed another counselor and headed for Baker Street. He couldn't face the thought of sending strangers to her door with this. Over cups of tea they shared many tears, some laughter and simple remembrances. When Lestrade finally left Mrs Hudson was teary eyed but in as good a spirit as circumstances would allow.

It was another 48 hours before John's primary health care provider gave the ok to him to be told. Lestrade had gathered up Mrs. Dearbourn and Mrs. Hudson on the way to the hospital. He had stood numbly gazing out the window seeing nothing as John wept. Martha and Roksana had done their best to give what little comfort they could. A simple funeral would be held three weeks after John's release from the hospital.

It had been a very busy three weeks for New Scotland Yard. Anderson was scared to death and was cooperating fully with police. He may have been a very small fish but the information was paying off in big dividends. Moriarty's involvement in narcotics, extortion rings, blackmail schemes, illegal arms sales and everything in between was being exposed. With the help of Mycroft's network, solid evidence was gathered. There would be no slip ups this time. No jury tampering, no threats, veiled or otherwise gotten to witnesses. Jim Moriarty's web of crime was being unraveled, thread by delicate thread.

But at their last meeting with Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade had gotten the impression that the powerful man was not fully satisfied. They had gone over names of captured criminals and their particular illegal operations making sure of their ties with Moriarty's name. At the end Mycroft had huffed and moved to on the large windows. After a moment or two he spoke.

"Are you sure this is complete?"

"As far as it goes on our end." Lestrade had frowned at the papers on the desk.

Mycroft gave a wave of dismissal. "No no, Inspector. You and your people have done remarkably well. Very well indeed. You are truly to be congratulated. But, it has been a long day, for the both of us. Let us end it for now."

Lestrade had risen and been shown out of the room and led through the maze of the power plant to his car. As soon as he was out of the room Mycroft had reached for his phone.

"Threat to Lestrade neutralized. MH"

"Moriarty's empire crumbling nicely. How ever, Cargill and Moran still avoid detection. MH"

"Mary Watson has passed away. MH"

"Cause? SH"

"Aneurysm on the brain. MH"

"You must attend funeral. SH"

"Send flowers. SH"

"Now see here. I hardly knew the woman. MH"

"Really. But you do know John. You must admit he has rendered invaluable service, to the both of us. It is impossible for me. You have no such restrictions. I must insist. SH"

"Do not forget flowers. SH"

Mycroft had known it to be useless to send another text as Sherlock would have turned off his phone.

"Anthea"

"Yes, sir?"

"Find out when Mrs. Dr. John H. Watson's funeral is. Order some flowers."

"Right away. Sir"

OOO

The cavalcade of 7 cars followed the hearse to the cemetery. Lestrade opened the door for Mrs. Hudson. John had slipped out of the front seat and let Mrs. Dearbourn out. Lestrade did a double take as he caught sight of the sleek black vehicle towards the back of the line of mourners. But found he was glad that one Holmes was able to make it.

Doctor's and nurse slipped solemnly into a knot around John and the hearse as the home attendant opened it and slid the coffin forward. Lestrade moved to act as pallbearer as did Mycroft( which shocked everyone, including himself, no doubt) and two of his people. A vicar stepped beside John as they led the silent procession to the green cloth draped over the casters that would support Mary during the service. Setting the coffin gently in it's place, the bearers stepped back as the vicar moved to her head to read some of her favorite passages. After he was finished, John stepped forward and read one of her favorite poems. Then taking two roses, one white for her and the red for himself, he twined the stems together and placed on the coffin. Each mourner followed suit until Mary was covered in a blanket of twined vibrant color.

Lestrade watched as the mourners gave John hugs or firm handshakes. The man responded to each but just barely. He looked totally washed out. It would be back to Kensington for him and soon.

Mrs. Dearbourn had laid out a light lunch. Lestrade joined John in his setting room. John had flopped onto the sofa, head back and eyes closed.

"Drink, John?"

"Oh, yeah. Oh, please."

John sat up straight and took the offered glass. Lestrade took the over stuffed chair across from him.

"I can't tell you..."

John's face registered pain. "No, no more. Let's talk about something else. Anything else. But not..."He waved a hand. "Not this..."

Lestrade tossed a folded news paper into the other man's lap. "I think maybe you might like to see this then."

John put the drink on the coffee table then picked up the paper and opened it. In big bold letters the headline read. "**Moriarty real. Sherlock Holmes was right!"** John scanned the article. It listed many of the arrests that had been made, the illegal activities and how the name of Jim Moriarty was linked to many of them. And a trial date.

John looked at at the man sitting across from him. "When did this all start to happen?"

"When we got our hands on someone who knew enough and would talk... Anderson was working for Moriarty."

John almost dropped his drink "You've got to be kidding."

Lestrade merely sipped his drink.

"You're not kidding. How did you find him out?"

"He confessed it in front of 5 witnesses who just happened to be police officers."

"When?"

"The day...the day of your accident. He called someone. Said that you should have died. That it would have been poetic justice for Moriarty. First Sherlock, then you."

"Then the suicide note..."

"Pretty much a lie...yeah."

John got up and moved around the room ending up at a window. But it wasn't the scenery he was seeing. "But why would he do that? Why say Moriarty wasn't real then when it has been proven that he was. Sherlock knew he was."

Lestrade wrestled with his conscience but in the end he said nothing about the phone call. If the caller had wanted to let John in, he would have. He hadn't so maybe Lestrade shouldn't meddle in this. He only shrugged and shook his head.

000

"Cargill has been taken. Tried to carjack a woman with a child in the car. She had a bottle of perfume and she sprayed it in his face. Called the police, of course. That leaves only Moran. Will you be coming home soon? MH"

"Heathrow tomorrow. 10:45 arrival time. SH"

000

Mrs. Hudson cleared away the lunch dishes. Her new boarders were pleasant enough. A young couple who laughed often. They had filled the flat upstairs full of life but it had been three years since John had moved out. She missed her two boys... She shook her head. No, there was no sense going there. She sighed and moved towards her living room. A little tele might help pass some time.

She hadn't anymore then sat down when someone knocked on the front door. With a humph she got up and moved down the front hall. "Just a moment. Who is it?"

"A friend of Mr. Mycroft Holmes. He asked me to deliver a package for him. You can call him if you don't believe me."

She hesitated.

"It's alright Mrs. Hudson. You can trust him."

Mrs. Hudson looked up into the smiling eyes of her female boarder who had come down to the landing. Mrs. Hudson nodded as she moved to the door and opened it

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

At her stunned silence the tall man gently moved into the hall, forcing her to step back until he could reach behind him to close and latch the door. Her hands moved trembling to cover her lips, her eyes wide. Then her grief and anger erupted and she slapped him open handed across the face. Her hands tightened into fists and she pummeled his shoulders and chest.

"How could you do this! That awful funeral and hideous grave! John grieving so. All of us!"

After her anger was spent she came to realize that the figure before her was solid and warm with life. Her fists opened to grip the lapels of his coat as she studied the calm face looking down at her. Her hands moved to bracket his cheeks.

"Oh my boy. My dear, dear, wonderful, beautiful boy."

She leaned into him, her forehead pressed against the black wool of his coat and gave herself over to tears. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head content to simply hold her until she could gather herself together.

000

Lestrade slumped on the sofa as John offered to take his coat. "Nothing new in the Adair case?"

"No. You are right, of course. Only a sniper could make a shot like that. Problem is, we can't find anything in the offices across the way that would make such a shot possible. The trajectories just don't seem to fit. I should have asked this before, but would you mind taking a look, John?"

"I'd be glad to. Any kind of motive? Adair never served in the military, did he?"

" No, he didn't. No motive yet. He was a gambler but he was careful with his money. No bad debts. No links with any loan sharks that we can find."

John grabbed his jacket and Lestrade moved towards the door. In a few moments they were on their way to 427 Park Lane.

The house where the young man died was residential. Owned by his mother. There were still thrill seekers about. Everyone talking, pointing, not adding anything remotely new or interesting. Lestrade had called him into the case it being just a short walk from his flat so he had seen the body. The ruined head, the single bullet that had snuffed out a life, so he had some idea where the shooter would have had to be to get the shot. He walked up the opposite side of the street until he directly across from the window of the room where Adair had died.

In a blink he was no longer on Park Lane, but standing by an indoor swimming pool. Sharp red dots trained on a vest of explosives, on a forehead.

"John...John...are you all right? You've gone white as a sheet."

John blinked slowly taking a deep breath. "I'm fine, really Greg. Just a flashback I guess."

"Ok, we're done then. This can wait. You get yourself home."

"Greg...I'm..."

"Your obviously not fine. So shut up and go home. Look, the last few weeks have been tough for you. It's ok. We'll try again in a few days. Alright?"

"Alright, yeah."

Greg moved off with a wave. John, disgusted with himself, spun around. He was aware of loosing his balance and stumbling into someone, of books hitting the sidewalk. He stooped to help pick them up but a gloved hand grabbed at them. John looked up to see an elderly man badly bent with arthritis turning hurriedly away from him hobbling as fast as the old legs could carry him, a cracked voice muttering angrily.

John huffed and made his way back to his flat. It seemed like he had only hung up his jacket and put a kettle on for tea when there was a knock at his door. Opening it he found the same old man he had just bumped into.

"I've come to apologize, young man. You showed kindness and I was gruff and, if I may say so, rude. So I hobbled after you, you see."

"There really is no apology needed. But I was about to have tea, would you like some?" John turned away to head back to the kitchen."

"I would love some. You know how I like it." The voice had gone from high and cracked to rich baritone.

John stopped dead in his tracks and with a deep sigh began to crumble to the floor. With a muttered oath Sherlock jumped to catch him before he hit.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

John was deposited on the sofa and covered with the light blanket that graced the back of it. Sherlock hunted through kitchen cupboards. Finding a bottle of ammonia and a soft cloth, he poured a small amount of the pungent liquid on the cloth and waved it slowly under John's nose. When he showed signs of reviving, Sherlock moved out of arm's reach. If he had thrown Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, John's reaction might be even stronger. Why hadn't he considered that before?

John slowly blinked then sat up. Took a few deep breaths and slowly looked around. When his eyes fell on the tall, dark haired figure he gave a small groan and moved as far away from Sherlock as possible. Sherlock remained silent. He had given Mrs. Hudson her space, he would do the same for this man as well. But John had pressed the heel of his palms over his face and remained still and silent.

Sherlock watched then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "John...I owe you an apology. I didn't think. It was...I was...unnecessarily melodramatic. I also didn't take into consideration your recent bereavement. I am sorry about Mary."

John's head came up. He had never heard Sherlock apologize to anyone...for anything. Except maybe Molly at that Christmas party. But he was angry. So very angry.

"You want to try to explain this then? I watched you die, because you asked me to! I saw you jump and I saw your bloody broken body!"

"You saw what I needed you do see. What you needed to believe. Because if I hadn't stepped off that roof, you would have died that day. You, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, that was Moriarty's trade off. My life for yours. And you had to believe it with all your...heart..."

Sherlock paused. John could only look at him, mind numb at this bit of news.

"But the papers. They called it a murder suicide. You killed the actor, Richard Brook, and then yourself. Proving you were a fake. No investigation, nothing.

"It was needful. Moriarty's people would feel safe that way. They would start making mistakes."

"Don't you see, John. It didn't matter what the papers said. What anyone said or thought for that matter. I knew the truth. Mycroft knew. And by the looks of the spray paint used in my defense, the Irregulars knew. And this is what matters. It's the only thing that does matter. What you yourself know to be the truth."

"I believed in you." John's voice was soft. Barely a whisper.

Sherlock sat on the low table that fronted the sofa. "I know. That is why, of all people, you had to believe me dead. Because if you had the slightest hint that I was alive the whole world would have known it. They would have read it on your face. In the way you walked...talked. Your conviction of my death was your greatest shield. It kept everyone safe."

John leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, chin cupped in twined fingers. "You knew Moriarty wanted you dead."

"He kept saying it. Kept alluding to me as "the final problem"." He knew that I would never stop hunting him. Trying to expose him for what he truly was. I was the threat that had to be eliminated. He learned...that I might not die for myself...but for..."

"For others?"

Sherlock merely nodded. Then he dug out his phone opened it and held it out to John. John took it.

"Open "Unsent texts"."

John found several tagged with his name with dates. He found his anger had been ebbing away, bit by bit.

Sherlock held out his hand and John placed the phone in it. After the slightest pause Sherlock pressed "delete" and slipped the phone away.

"But all this time. You didn't stay in England."

"Africa, Turkey, India, Iran, Arabia, and Iraq. The State Department has all the reports."

"Meaning Mycroft of course. Is the danger over then, is that why you were able to come home?"

"No, and that is why the disguise, especially on Park Lane. Some how young Adair ran afoul of him and paid for it. The shooter is still there watching the course of the investigation. You and Lestrade where in great danger today."

"Us...sniper. I remembered the pool. The sniper scopes..."

Sherlock nodded. "No doubt one and the same. If he thought you and Lestrade was getting to close he would not hesitate this time. There is no Moriarty to stop him. His name is Sebastian Moran and he is the most dangerous man in London. But Mrs. Hudson and I have baited a trap. With any luck at all we should be able to take him tonight. I must be back before nine this evening."

John sat up straight. "Mrs. Hudson...you've been to Baker Street."

"Yes, and sans disguise. I'm afraid I threw her into violent hysterics but she recovered nicely."

John frowned. "Mrs. Hudson...violent?"

"She actually slapped me, across the face. Then hit with her fists. Tears I expected."

"But...oh...you wanted to be seen. You wanted this Moran to know you were alive and back in London. Is Mrs. Hudson safe?"

"If she does as is planned, there is no risk to her at all."

John groaned, dropping his head in his hand. Some things never changed. Especially with this man setting in front of him.

Sherlock stood up and straightened his coat. John watched from where he sat. Sherlock hesitated then looked down at him.

John felt the smile growing on his lips. "Oh yeah. Oh bloody hell, yeah"

"Bring your gun. Moran is good at what he does and he takes it very seriously."

Sherlock let a smile touch his own features as he headed for the door and opened it,

holding it while John grabbed his coat and pistol . Then he stepped through and waited for John to close and latch the door behind them. They both sprinted down the walk and into the street to hail a cab.

Instead of driving to Baker Street Sherlock gave directions to Cavendish Square. There they got out . After paying the cabdriver, Sherlock led John through a maze of back alleys to Manchester then to Blandford. A gated fence faced the back of a row of stores on the street. Placing a small flashlight between his teeth, he trained the beam on the lock of one gates. Fishing out a set of lock picks, he deftly opened the gate and slipped inside motioning John to follow. Sherlock closed and locked the gate then made for the back door of the building. Another session with the flashlight and lock picks and they were inside. Sherlock led the way up two stories and down a hall. He opened a door motioned John inside. Followed him in and left the door slightly ajar. The room was dimly lit by windows and the two men moved towards them.

"Do you know where we are, John?" Sherlock spoke in a soft whisper.

John glanced out the window to the street below then up to the building across from them. Lights glowed from the windows. In one was a silhouette of a man. "Baker Street. Across from 221 B." John whispered back.

"You know, someday you are going to get so busted for breaking and entering."

"Perhaps, but this is not the day...or night...as the case may be. Lestrade knows we are here."

"Wonderful. Now you're aided and abetted by New Scotland Yard."

"It has it's uses. Now, hush. Hopefully it will not be to long a wait."

But it was a longer wait then Sherlock had hoped. The time had gone from nine to almost midnight when a noise made him grab John's arm. Moving back to the door, he opened it and listened. Some one was moving through the store down stairs. He spun and around and searched the walls finding another door. It led into another storage room and he pushed John into it then closed the door slightly.

Sherlock leaned close whispering as quietly as he could. "Text Lestrade. Let him know that Moran is in the building across from 221 B with us. It is imperative that he does not text or call back. Tell him to come up barefoot, if need be. Being silent is utmost."

They stood in the dark hardly daring to breath. The soft sound of foot falls was heard as the door to the outer storage room was opened. As the figure approached the window a shadow fell across the door. The sound of a window being eased up was then heard. Then a long stretch of silence, a faint tinkle of glass and the shadow moved.

Sherlock flew across the dark room. John heard the sound of impact, two bodies colliding. John was out and hunting near the main door of the storage room hunting for the light switch. Finding it he he hit is revealing Sherlock struggling with a man in fatigues. The man was down but was trying to flip Sherlock onto his back, trying for a strangle hold. It almost worked until John touched him behind the ear with the barrel of his service pistol.

"Give me a good excuse. Just one..."

The man went still and Sherlock scrambled to his feet.

"It's alright John, you can stand down."

John turned his head slightly, hand never flinching as he looked up. He found himself and Sherlock standing in a half circle of Yarders all with guns drawn. John took a step back and lowered his weapon giving Greg Lestrade room to cuff their prisoner. Lestrade yanked the man up and handed him off to another officer.

"Take him down. And what ever you do, don't loose him."

Three officers formed up and grabbing hold of Moran, marched him out of the room.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "This is the man you were telling me about? Moriarty's pet sniper? Quite a coup for you."

Sherlock shook his head. "I am not to be connected with this affair in any way, Greg. Not my name. Not a mention of John or 221B. This is to your credit, and you alone."

Lestrade looked perplexed. "But we have him on your attempted murder. If you don't give us that then what have we to hold him on?"

Sherlock glanced towards the window. "Come around to 221B later this morning, say, nine thirty? I think I will be able to provide the ballistics evidence you need to tie this weapon to the Ronald Adair murder."

Sherlock indicated the leather case sitting under the now closed window. Lestrade put on latex gloves and moved to open it. Inside was a state of the art sniper rife. Greg looked up at John.

"You did tell me that the shooter of Park Lane was most likely a sniper."

Lestrade took up the case then held out his hand to Sherlock who took it.

"Welcome back to London. It's good having you here."

"It's good being back, Lestrade." Sherlock released the hand and started to turn away.

Lestrade kept his hand out and wiggled his fingers. "Oh...and Sherlock..."

Sherlock glanced at the wiggling fingers then up at Lestrade. "No. I still have need of them. Your paparazzi have arrived by now. John and I are going to have to retreat the same way we came. I'll return them when you come later."

Lestrade let his hand drop with a warning look to Sherlock. "See that you do. Goodnight you two."

Greg left, turning out the light. Sherlock and John made their way back down stairs and out the back once more. Sherlock led the way to Mrs. Hudson's back door. Once in they were up the stairs and opening the door to their old flat. John stepped in and it was like going back in time. Everything was pretty much as he remembered it. The skull on the mantle, the bullet pocked marked smiley face, test tubes and microscope. The only real difference was that it was much cleaner and Mrs. Hudson stood in the middle of the room at almost one in the morning smiling like he had never seen before.

She came and gave John a big hug and he returned it warmly. Sherlock had moved to inspect a damaged bust.

"Do you have the bullet, Mrs. Hudson?"

She moved to drop something into his hand. "It hit the wall after ruining your beautiful bust I'm afraid."

"No matter. It is as I expected it to be."

John moved to inspect the damaged piece. "Really, Sherlock. Couldn't you have used a mechanical head. Something that moved on it's own?"

"Actually the thought did cross my mind, but I deleted it immediately."

"You dele...why, for pity's sake! It would have kept Mrs. Hudson out of it."

"I came to realize there were three points to the negative."

"And they were, pray tell?"

"1). A bullet like this, striking metal parts, would have caused shrapnel to fly everywhere. Who knows what damaged would have been done."

John rolled his eyes. "Right, bullet holes in the wall, test tubes and such blowing up right and left and your worried about shrapnel. Yeah?"

"Point number 2). This bullet hitting solid material may have very well rendered it useless for Lestrade's needs."

Sherlock moved to stand in front of Mrs. Hudson, eyes smiling down at her.

"You were expounding on the third point?"

Sherlock took her chin and gently moved her head. "Look at this face. The sun on a clear summer's day could not beam so bright. She could not be prouder if she had been asked to chair parliament with the guarantee that every proclamation she issued would be signed immediately and permanently into British law. Who am I to deprive her of that?"

He drew himself up to full stature and took one of her hands. With one arm smartly tucked behind his back he executed a perfect courtly bow, kissing the back of it. She blushed and performed the most perfectly graceful curtsey that John thought he had ever seen bad hip or no. And John laughed. And it felt wonderful. He moved and offered his hand to Sherlock who took it warmly.

"Welcome back to Baker Street, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Might I expect my faithful blogger to return as well?"

"You might. Yes, I think you very well might."

"Most excellent."

**There. It is done. Finished. Complete**


End file.
